Feeding the Hungry, P. C. Hiebert, 1929

ay from the strictly orthodox view and practice at the Guest House. My food basket was too heavy for me alone. So the man from the Foreign Office, no—did not help me carry it, but asked a man in military uniform (stationed at the Guest House apparently as guard) to help with the baggage, which he did without hesitation, and carried it up himself. This done, my English-speak- ing friend explained that there is no longer any tipping in the new Russia. It is forbidden. If he would see me, he added impressively, giving the man pay for carrying my baggage, he could have the fellow arrested immediately for accepting it. But!—but—(a comradely and shrewd look came over his face),—but he was going out imme- P32 FEEDING THE HUNGRY diately, and then I could give a present to the uniformed man. And he suggested a sum that would guarantee a half dozen bows from a London or New York porter. I paid the man a reasonable amount. The room was interesting. ‘The bedstead with mat- tress was there, but, as was the old Russian custom, there were no bed sheets or covers.. However, this I had antici- pated and therefore equipped myself with such necessities. My previous three visits to Russia had made me familiar with many of the customs of the land and the psychology of the people. In the old Russia travelers invariably pre- ferred, for sanitary reasons, to use their own personal linen, and it regularly constituted a necessary part of the traveler’s baggage. An examination of the bedstead re- vealed the presence of vermin, though only a few, which were quickly disposed of, but the quiet and warmth of the night lured several more of them to their own de- struction. The room was not clean. An American jour- nalist, expecting to remain a considerable time in this same Guest House, had insisted on having his room thor- oughly renovated and refinished, even to the planing of the hardwood floor. During the several weeks spent there, I had no trouble with having my things mislaid in my room, for it was usually left untouched, bed, chairs, table and dust for days at a time. Once or so in a week or two, a woman of the Guest House would happen along to make up the bed and dust the room. (There were no maids or servants of the Guest House of this Worker’s Republic, only “workers”.) Once when she had set the room in order, I gave her in appreciation a small bar of chocolate—at that time very rare in Russia. The very next day—not week, as before—two women came to look after the room, each with chocolate written unmis- takably all over her expectant face. After that if there would be no chocolate, the room was at once forgotten. UNSEALING THE CLOSED DOOR bs Owing to the general carelessness and a low water supply, the lavatories and toilets were indescribably filthy. Cold water could usually be drawn at the faucet in my room early in the morning or until the supply ran too low for the upper floors. If one desired hot w